


Respite

by lalalalalawhy



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Axe and Fiddle are both he/him, Barley Husbands, Fall of Magic (TTRPG), Golems, Harp's pronouns are they/them, Live at the Table, Multi, Threesome, latt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 21:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12969207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalalalawhy/pseuds/lalalalalawhy
Summary: Harp is three millennia old and can be patient when they need to be. One night in Barley Town, there is no need for patience.





	Respite

The sun set over Barley Town, and its citizens stretched their arms above their heads and congratulated themselves on another day of work completed. It was not yet harvest season, and the workers in the fields had some time to do as they pleased. The farmers, artisans, and peddlers who had attended the Farmers’ Market jingled the coins they had earned in their pockets. People laughed and sang, and fires were lit in hearths all over town in preparation for the evening meal. None burned with more light and cheer than the fire in the hearth of the Axe and Fiddle.

There sat Harp, the beautiful golem of Ravenhall, enjoying the company of the tavern's proprietors. Axe and Fiddle were barley golems, and their ways were familiar and strange to Harp, who had not met many golems in their time.

As the tavern began to fill with the evening crowd, both Axe and Fiddle took their leave from Harp, promising to return after the clientele had been served to the best of their abilities.

Harp watched with admiration as the two barley golem husbands made the rounds, clapping friends on the shoulder and inquiring after various family members and livestock. Harp understood that people -- humans --e xpected small niceties, but that didn't make them any better at doling them out. They were made of stone; it was a beautiful stone, to be sure, but stone nonetheless.

Where Axe and Fiddle made those around them more comfortable, Harp tended to put people on edge. They understood that putting people at their ease was neither their strength nor their calling -- their strength and calling lay in gardening, and perhaps inspiring awe -- and it was fascinating to watch Axe and Fiddle at work.

Harp’s reverie was interrupted as, one by one, their traveling companions returned to the inn for their evening rest. Caspian and Piccolo entered the room with an enormous bundle strapped to Caspian’s back. Within the bundle, many items were visible: boxes of various sizes, bushels and bags of assorted goods, more rope than their party could ever find use for, and a large bag of orange orbs tied delicately on top. The bundle nearly doubled Caspian’s height, and would almost certainly impact his ability to ride the wind.

“Harp!” Piccolo called across the room, and Harp raised their sword hand in greeting. The young man scurried over to where Harp was seated, bouncing with exhilaration from his time at the Farmers’ Market.

“Harp,” Piccolo said again, softer this time as he sat across the table from them. His voice was soft and thick with the local accent. “You'll never believe the bargains we found!”

“Yeah!” Caspian said, setting down his bundle. “We got enough chalk to be able to cross any chalk bridges we come across!”

“And oranges!” Piccolo said. “Though I don't suppose golems get scurvy.”

“You assume correctly,” Harp said. “I do not eat, and I need no vitamins.”

“Yeah,” Caspian said, “and you already got all the mineral you could ever need, am I right?”

“That is correct,” Harp said.

“I did get you this,” Caspian said, holding out a very short wooden sword and an equally short wooden rake. “The man from the market said we may well come across someone who would demand we give them something dear. He said we shouldn't give up my vehicle, so he made me this.”

Caspian pointed at the miniature board and kite made entirely of wood.

“Yeah,” said Piccolo, “and we got to talkin’ about what else we had what was dear and we ain't gonna want to give up. We figured you'd want to hold onto your rake and sword, so we got these too.”

Harp contemplated the small wooden sword and wooden rake Piccolo proffered.

“Thank you,” they said, after a long pause. “Both my rake and my sword are a part of me, just as your hand and your ear are a part of you. I am a thing-person.”

Both Caspian and Piccolo nodded, a bit uncertainly.

“You are both people-people, and your offering of these things is thoughtful,” Harp continued.

“You're welcome,” Piccolo said.

“I can keep carrying them in my bag, if you want,” Caspian said.

“That would be preferred,” Harp said.

Just then, Fiddle came back over to the table.

“Your companions have returned, I see,” he said.

“Yes,” Harp said. “They are human and therefore require sustenance before sleeping.”

“Beer and soup for the young gentlemen?” Fiddle asked.

“Aw shucks, mister,” Piccolo said, self-conscious at being named a gentleman. “Anything you got’d be fine with us.”

“Two soups and two beers, coming up,” Fiddle said, winking at Piccolo, who blushed scarlet.

After Piccolo and Caspian had gone to bed for the evening, the Magus swept through the dining room, nodding as she passed Harp by. She did not stop for beer, nor soup, nor conversation, but strode straight for the stairs.

Last to arrive for supper was Fawn, carrying an empty bottle in her mouth. She placed it down before speaking.

“This belongs to the Magus,” she said. “Is she here?”

“The Magus retired some hours ago,” Harp said.

“I suppose it can wait until morning,” Fawn said. She trotted back outside to go sleep in her hollow log, vial grasped between her teeth.

Little by little, the tavern emptied, until only the three golems remained. Lit by the last flickers of the fire in the hearth, Axe and Fiddle fell into a practiced pattern of tidying up: Axe brushing his feet along the floor to sweep it, Fiddle wiping down tables.

It was like a dance, Harp thought, watching the two of them. When their paths crossed, always one would reach out to touch the other, brushing a hand across his back or leaning in to tuck an errant strand of barley behind an ear. It was an intimacy Harp was not accustomed to witnessing, but there was no embarrassment in it, no second-hand shame. Humans and others were so often ashamed or unnerved when they noticed Harp’s steady gaze, but the barley husbands were unerringly comfortable, both with each other and with the presence of another.

“Now,” Axe said clapping his hands together and making a quiet sound, “to business. We were discussing the nature of things, and our nature as thing-people.”

“Yes,” Harp said, “and my sword and my rake and whether I must choose.”

Axe took his axe from where it was strapped to his back, and gazed at it.

“I suppose I was lucky,” he said. “I never had to choose.”

“If you had, would your choice have been different?” Harp asked.

“No,” Axe said, grinning. “You heard me sing earlier. Not a lot in this world can make a golem do that.”

Fiddle brushed his hand across the top of his husband’s head. “Did he tell you that's how we first met?”

Harp shifted their gaze to Fiddle.

“I heard him singing a song in the woods just outside of town,” he said. “There was a rhythm to it, and I stood, picking out the strain from the wind in the trees, trying to find the one who could sing so sweet.”

“And you did,” Axe said, grasping his husband’s hand.

“What of you, Fiddle?” Harp asked. “Did you have a choice?”

“No,” Fiddle said, “I was made for the music. It was once tradition in Barley Town to bring to life a golem such as myself for the harvest, to play a tune as the people-people worked the fields. Usually we had a foreshortened lifespan, we harvest-things, but my song made me stronger than most.”

“He's been playing the fiddle ever since,” said Axe.

“Indeed I have,” Fiddle said. “Now, our things have a use and a purpose appropriate to our being.” He gazed at Harp’s sword, then their rake. “What use have you found for yours?”

“I tend a garden,” Harp said, by way of explanation.

“A garden,” said Axe, thoughtfully. “It's a pity, then, that your sword ain’t a scythe. That’d be more useful in a garden.”

“Mm,” Harp said.

“A sword is a poor substitute or a scythe when it comes to cutting fields of barley,” Fiddle agreed.

“And it would be a worse axe for chopping at trees and bushes,” Axe said.

“We have plants of all kinds in the garden of Ravenhall,” Harp said.

“Do you find the sword useful in dealing with any of them?” Fiddle asked.

Harp considered for a moment. “Not more than the rake, no,” they said.

“The time may never come when you have to choose,” Axe said. “You have had two things thus far. Perhaps you will have them both for much longer.”

“If that day comes, I do not envy you that choice, friend,” Fiddle said.

Harp said nothing.

Axe turned to the hearth and spread out the dying embers.

“We have made you up a room, if you would like it. You may also stand or sit here for the night, if it pleases you,” Fiddle said. He paused, not uncertain, but allowing the choices a space to breathe before offering a new one. “Both my husband and I would also like to extend to you an invitation to join us in our bedchamber for the evening. If you would like.”

Golems do not blush, but in the dying light of the final embers, Harp's face took on a pinker light.

They looked back and forth between the two husbands, and found, to their surprise, that they would like it very much.

* * *

Unlike humans and vinegar foxes, whose senses number five, and the Magi, who have more than that still, golems do not smell and they do not taste. Golems can see and hear and touch, they can feel both temperature and pressure, weight and the absence of weight. As Harp followed Axe and Fiddle up the stairs to their bedchamber, they took in all they could.

The two husbands were made of the same closely-bound barley, but they could hardly have been more different. Axe stood tall and broad, his sheaf of a torso tightly woven together, mimicking human musculature. His chest was as broad as a human lumberjack’s, his shoulders as solid as Harp’s own. Tiny braids of barley created striata of musculature over his large frame, his strong arms bulging. Where the detail on his body was exquisite and taut, his face had been constructed broadly: his brow was more a suggestion than a feature, and his nose and lips were soft, nearly tender. He had a crown of tightly wound curls of dark flax atop his head and a beard of shorter curls along his jaw.

Fiddle also had bulk, but his was a different sort. Where Axe was hard and tight, Fiddle was soft and ample. He had a similar volume, but it was bound together gently, and his torso curved into a soft belly. When Fiddle moved, it was like watching a breeze flow through a field, his periphery catching up just a short moment after the rest of him.

Axe moved like a ripe fruit falling from a tree, but Fiddle swayed like the air stirring through high leaves. Harp, a golem made from beautiful pink stone threaded through with narrow bands of black, found the movement of both husbands unbearably gentle and deeply, deeply beautiful.

Both of them made a soft susurrus as they climbed the stairs to their bedchamber. Harp followed behind as quietly as they could, stepping lightly so as to better hear the rustling.

As they stood at the threshold of the bedchamber, Harp looked to Axe and Fiddle. The two husbands entered the room first, and placed their axe and fiddle in well-worn stands. Golems wear no clothes, and thus there was nothing for them to take off, but it still seemed an intimate gesture, each husband placing his item down, gently, and rising back to face each other. Although little had changed, there was a new sense of intimacy now that made Harp feel slightly embarrassed, both to bear witness to it but also that they had not similarly let go of their items.

Harp looked for place to lean their rake and their sword and settled on an unoccupied corner. Once they had propped their items there, Harp stood patiently, waiting for one of the barley husbands to take the lead.

Axe and Fiddle each took one of Harp’s elbows and led them over to the mat on the floor, gesturing for them to lie down.

Harp laid themself down -- they were made of magnificent stone, much denser stuff than either of the husbands, after all -- and waited with their hands clasped behind their head. Patience was a virtue, and Harp possessed it. They watched as Axe and Fiddle made their final adjustments to the room, latching the door, opening the window a small crack, and blowing out all but one lamp near the sleeping mat.

Axe lay down first, halfway on top of Harp. Harp reached out a tentative hand and brushed some of his barley curls away from his face, lingering their palm against his cheek. Axe smiled and leaned his bearded cheek into their hand.

Fiddle knelt down beside Harp, and reached out with a single finger of bound barley to trace a streak of black tourmaline that ran from Harp’s shoulder to midway down their torso. It was a sensation Harp had never experienced before. In the garden, there had been grasses that had brushed against their arms and legs, but never with such intention. Never with conscious thought behind it. It made Harp shiver.

Axe reached over and put his hand on top of Fiddle’s, pulling him down into a kiss. It was the best kiss Harp had ever experienced, even though they participated only through watching. They reached up to stroke the backs of each of the barley golems, and got a satisfying shiver out of each. In return, Harp’s crystalline flesh quivered and vibrated against the earthy strands of their lovers. Fingers entwined, the three moved against each other in a steady if uneven rhythm.

Golems have no need to sleep, and the three lay together all night in each other’s company, stroking, rubbing, and loving each other, each in their own way.

* * *

When the dawntime sun crested the hills east of Barley Town and found its way into the windows of a room on the top floor of the Axe and Fiddle, it found three golems, sated and happy, intimate in each other’s company for a few moments more.

Harp did not belong here in Barley Town, not in the way Axe and Fiddle did, but neither did they belong totally to the garden in Ravenhall. For now, their path was the open road, sword and rake in hand, accompanied by Caspian, Piccolo, Fawn, and the Magus. After the others had breakfasted, Harp would bid their farewells to the barley husbands and continue down their path.

They could not stay. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t lay here for a few moments more in the dim light of morning, stroking the sheaves of their lovers’ arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Harp's trip to the Axe and Fiddle takes place in the Fall of Magic Live at the Table game at about 1:41:50, and boy oh boy do I ship these three golems. 
> 
> Also, in my haste to post this, I didn't have a beta look over it. If you see anything amiss, feel free to let me know!


End file.
